


if the sun rises

by mydearconfidant



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Character Study, Gen, POV Original Female Character, Trans Female Character, centered on that one kid that stopped in front of the tv in ch 402 as a call back to young hinata, some transphobia (minor), technically still furudate's oc but i made up the personality and backstory so
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:13:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26393956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydearconfidant/pseuds/mydearconfidant
Summary: (phoenix)That's what we call a legend that never dies.That's what we call a "Little Giant".
Comments: 5
Kudos: 11





	1. protostar

It begins and ends on television. That’s how Hinata Shoyo got his wings. It’s been ages since Udai Tenma took flight, but in his little black and white world of deadlines and spilled ink, he’s got plenty else occupying his mind.

Hinata, however, soars. 

And so begins another story with another kid and another TV. This kid stops to watch a new Little Giant fight on man-made wings.

You know, I’m not sure that kid actually went on to play volleyball. Nor did she like volleyball. Not at first, at least. 

That kid was a girl named Akira.

Her parents didn’t know she was a girl yet when she was born, but she figured it out herself.

“Girl” fits nicely. “Boy” felt like a hand-me-down sweater that was too large and floppy to ever call her own.

“Boy” used to fit the spiker on screen a few years ago, but he’s definitely a man now.

He’s not Udai Tenma. He’s not Hoshiumi Kourai.

He’s not just the Greatest Decoy.

He is Hinata Shoyo and he is a champion in his own right.

She thinks he’s cool, but she doesn’t really know that much about volleyball, really.

I mean, she thinks it’s ok, but volleyball is Just a Thing. What’s so fun about sports?

Akira is neither first nor last when it comes time to be picked for teams, so she doesn’t really think about it that much. 

Her interest in movement is solely directed towards the make believe, towards hands smudged with charcoal, towards scribbly lines, pencils worn down to nubs, chalk that spreads rainbows on a sidewalk. 

She wants to be an artist when she grows up- her mind lives up there in Laputa’s clouds with Princess Sheeta. Her sky is not the domain of wing spikers.

She doesn’t like volleyball, no, but she can see the art in his limbs, the story in his vertical.

It’s movement, it’s moving. The way Hinata jumps is impressive, but it doesn’t quite fill her heart full of stars. He’s interesting, but in a momentary sort of curiosity. Akira gets back on her bike and pedals off.

When she gets older, she’ll learn about Leonardo daVinci. She’ll look at his sketches, and have vague memories of a sunset burst in full bloom- an Olympic flame of a David knocking down all the world’s Goliaths in one go. 

Her feet are on the ground.

Akira doesn’t want to fly. Not yet. 

So the little crow stays on the ground- drawing bits and baubles with eyes brighter than Eizoken’s Asakusa.

With her two hands, she makes miracles, moves mountains. Six years old feels endless, six years old feels like forever.

There’s still sunlight through the canopy.


	2. winter sun

She’s 12 now. 12 doesn’t feel like forever. 12 feels like a banged up heart and bruised knees without Mom coming in to put bandaids on them and tell you that you’re a brave, beautiful girl. Dad can’t hold your hand at school. Mom can’t fight off all the demons in your head. 

Akira wasn’t born with the right sort of textbook- the one that tells all about her how growing up was supposed to be- so she doesn’t think it’s worth it to keep asking.

Being the nail that sticks out is a hanging offense by the judge and jury. 

She isn’t omnivorous. She doesn’t know how to fly over oceans, how to fly unscathed through storms. She has her ink, she has her charcoal, she has her colored pencils, but they don’t make the sun rise. 

What color are her wings? They’re neither black nor white. 

While shadows don’t hide her face (a face that doesn’t have blue eyes), the sunlight is weak here. This forest is dark, deep and not lovely at all. 

(down comes the hammer, down comes the thunder, down comes the rain- to wash the spiders out.)

She sits by the laundry and her thoughts bang up like dirty laundry. 

Akira’s 12 and, and, and….that’s more frustrating than any question “Algebra for Beginners” could ask. 

You get up, stand up and climb up to the top of a shapeless, colorless, pile of void called “human potential”. You’re asked to define it. 

What are you to yourself? 

Akira thinks that being yourself is stupid- Akira doesn’t like Akira and no no no. Akira is not a boy’s name. 

What’s Akira, anyways? 

What’s Akira to Akira?

Either the sunlight isn’t there, or it burns too much.

The storms that overcompensate for its absence are more like a scorching desert, a silent sandstorm filling up the lungs and heart until you have nothing left to say, nowhere left to go, and no one left to be.

Her school has a girls’ volleyball team. She hesitates. There’s vague memories of human flight that echo faintly in her brain-

but she’s never flown before. 

There’s a white flag on the train tracks today. 

“I’ve given up before I’ve fallen down” it says. Or seems to say.

Here’s what it actually says:

“Club application- Girls’ Volleyball Team.

Name:

Year:

Reason for Joining:”


End file.
